At The Point
by PhantomLilac
Summary: Midquel to "The Final Threshold." PLEASE read "The Final Threshold" (fanfic link on my profile) before reading the midquel as nothing will make sense in this story otherwise. Full description in Chapter 1. I have decided to keep writing this story! Stay tuned!
1. Chapter 1 - Secrets We Keep

**A/N: Thank you to all my loyal followers who read my fanfic, The Final Threshold! As a gift to my few phans, I will be presenting this prequel that I hope will make you have pheels and make you happy...through times of sadness and happiness you all have been there for me and supported my writing, especially with my schedule conflicts (I had conflicts while I was in Seussical...now I'm in Willy Wonka and sometimes it becomes hard for me to find time to write).**

**For the newbies to my fanfic writing style and or my fanfictions in general, I warn you that you should probably read The Final Threshold (click on my profile and scroll down, I believe its logo is a blue tinted Phantom mask), or this story will make ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE to you, though if you insist to continue reading regardless, I cannot force you to go read TFT, so I will try to elaborate as much as I can in the first few chapters so it makes somewhat (?) sense, but I seriously doubt anything will work otherwise than reading the actual fanfic.**

**Now back to my phans, I reassure you this is a midquel...but it is set like in between the semi final to final chapter of the story...going more in depth on Erik's marriage to Christine. The conflict is major, so here's the "official summary":**

_**Christine and Erik are at last happily married, set out to live the best of their days, but they don't know that not all the darkness has stopped following them. After the death of his last wife...the Comte, Philippe deChagney, needs a new heir to the Comtess' throne...and he wants Christine as his forevermore. He sends to fetch her, only to discover that the infamous Phantom of the Opera has her. Believing Erik hasn't changed, Philippe will stop at nothing to take Erik's wife and children away from him...but what can he do to prove that he is no longer shrouded with hate in his heart?**_

**With that being said, allow the story to commence! Thank you all for reading, and I hope you will enjoy this c:**

.::.

**Christine**

Mail was a curious thing-for it was sitting on my doorstep in a small package. Not letters, just a brown package tied up with white lacy ribbon, a perfect bow on the top. The kids and my husband, Erik, were playing in the backyard of our large home near the shore.

I smiled slightly to myself as I read the label. It was addressed to me, and was from France, but who in France would bother to send me anything? Perhaps Monsieur Andre or Firman?

I couldn't think at all that it could possibly be Carlotta, the woman loathed myself and loathed Erik, so why would she, was the question. But no, it was not from Carlotta. In fact, there wasn't a name on it at all!

I took to my bedroom, gliding up the long, winding stairway to the upper floor. The main hall unraveled and I entered a white-doored room with a simple king-sized bed, to which Erik and I slept beside each other every night. Our blanket was neatly tucked under the pillows of plush, and in front of these soft pillows I laid the package and grabbed the bow.

To my surprise, with a simple tug, the ribbon fell off, leaving the bare, brown package before me.

Tenderly, as if trying not to wake the interior, I tore along the seams of which it had been carefully crafted together, thus opening it.

Inside was a red scarf. I gasped, holding it up to see. Yes, it was my scarf! Raoul, my former husband, had run into the sea to fetch my scarf...

In fact, the card in which was beneath it had on bold the words, "To Little Lotte."

This couldn't be, I thought, Raoul is dead, right? To this I hesitated, wondering what deadly secrets could be contained within the pages.

_Dearest Lotte,_

_I have been trying to locate you after the death of my brother, Raoul deChagney. For you see, my wife has just died as well, and without a Comtess deChagney, as I do not possess an heir, I require a wife strong enough to birth a child, and I would adore that wife to be you, my dear._

_On the other hand, do I ponder upon the fact that you are well? How is my favorite nephew, Gustave? He's a young man now, is he married and have a son? By the time you receive this letter and scarf, I will be three days away from arriving at your estate. If you have remarried, I challenge your new husband to a game. I have no doubts, as my brother's last letter to me had been, that you have married your Phantom. Well, may the best man win._

_I look forward to my visit with you and your alleged children._

_-Philippe deChagney_

I smiled softly to myself. What a delight! I happened to very much so like Philippe. Even when Raoul was in a gambling crisis, Philippe made sure that Gustave and I had a place to stay and eat, and treated my son to fine delicacies and treats, having been very fond of my son.

Now Gustave was grown, and indeed his daughter Lotte was five and practically a little lady. I knew Philippe somewhat always knew Gustave was probably not Raoul's son, and I hoped he would be accepting of Gustave and his wife, Karissa. I knew Gustave loved his uncle-in law, and in prayer tonight I would silently hope for this to be okay. Even worse, what would Erik think? Could I leave him now?

I felt stricken and torn between the man I respected so much and the man I loved just as equally, at a sudden pace. My heart lurched as I thought about what Erik might do if I told him our marriage was over. Would he commit suicide? Would he hurt himself and have to be sent to jail or an asylum, or worse...

Would he drastically change into the Phantom again just to win me back?

I shuddered at this thought. It took me so long to get Erik at where he was at now-no longer dead skinny, sad, depressing, lurking in shadows, like a literal living corpse. Now he was happy, a bit sun-tanned, a family man, and a loving, perfect husband. I was scared of his temper sometimes, but it wasn't malicious or murderous, it was usually passive and minor, nothing too harmful. What marveled me the most is how he'd never raise a hand to his children. He refused to let his hands, who spilt blood, lay any harm upon them.

Yet I took the scarf and letter, tucking them away into my dresser, before letting a wisp of cold air around me convulse and spiral apart as I closed them away, my secret, for now, hidden so nicely.

Instead I strode out the door, only to meet face to face with Erik, who I absently slammed into. He and I both stumbled, before he absentmindedly chuckled.

"Be careful, love. If we were in an opera, you would've tripped over your skirt," he mused, wrapping his arms around me and pressing a kiss to my cheek. I smiled, hiding my conflicting feelings.

"Indeed, Erik. Andre and Firman would've fired me on the spot!" I numbly giggled, void of internal emotion as I let free of his tender hold. In puzzlement, he lifted an eyebrow.

"Something the matter?"

I jumped onto my next sentence.

"No, no, not at all. I feel a bit nauseous being inside all day, that's all, dear."

His face relit up, as he took my hand like a gentleman would, before gliding me down the steps with him, a cock-eyed grin moving across his face.

"Then my lady shall get some air outside, shall she?" he mused. My muscles loosened as I relaxed a bit. Erik would not suspect a thing yet. Oh, how would I tell him? Perhaps I tell him that Philippe was only visiting. Who was to say I would marry Philippe anyways?

It would be a very complicated day.


	2. Chapter 2 - Goodbye's and Hello's

**Christine**

.::.

"Nadir! Lily! Sit still at the dinner table, _please!"_ Erik sternly said, using his commanding prowess tone in his voice. The children jolted to a halt, staring at their father in a mooned fashion, before starting to eat their food quietly.

I sat comfortably beside him as Erik then continued his conversation with Gustave, who was fretting over how to raise a son. Indeed, a week ago, my second grandchild, Mortimer, was born to Gustave and his lovely wife, Karissa.

Karissa wasn't here of course. She was in the hospital. She had barely survived childbirth, as the baby was born about two weeks early. The sad thing was we weren't sure if Karissa would make it.

I must've appeared to be drifting off, for Erik nudged me, once more his husbandry concern for me returning as he spoke.

"Dear, you're turning pale and your forehead is hot. Are you sure you're okay?"

He cocked an eyebrow, and suddenly tension sealed between us. I wasn't sure what he could be thinking, but he was awfully suspicious of me.

"I'm fine, Erik, I was just remembering that my wedding night to Raoul, we had a roasted turkey that was much like this one." I warily lied. He nodded.

"Well, that monstrous man is dead, so don't worry about him anymore," he replied with a courteous nod, then turned to Gustave, once more continuing his chat conversation.

I listened in on the conversations between the girls.

"When mum gets out of the hospital," Lotte squeaked to Erika, "she said she'd teach me how to sew clothing!"

Erika gasped, eyes widening.

"Sewing clothing? I wish I knew how to-so I could make them for my dolls." she chirped cheerily. From beside them, my redheaded eldest daughter, Lynette, nudged them.

"Maybe tomorrow I can teach you two how to make dresses, so you can choose what color you want instead of mum picking them for you."

Deciding to give a little teasing, I leaned in towards them and whispered,

"Ah, but I make the best clothing, not Linny."

Lynette scowled, her cheeks burning red.

"Aw mum, don't call me Linny anymore, please. I'm fourteen now."

This sent Erika and Lotte into uncontrollable giggles, to which made both Erik and Gustave look up in confusion, before they went back to ignoring everybody else. Like father, like son.

To this, Nadir's little hands brushed my arm.

"Mommy, can I pwease go to bed now?" he whimpered. I looked to Erik, before tapping his shoulder.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Love, I think I'm going to put the little ones to bed now, and get some shut-eye myself. Stay up as long as you need." I cooed. He nodded.

"Of course. Get good rest. Love you," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. As I kissed his in return, guiltiness did nothing but tug and yank at my heartstrings. I didn't know how I could leave him...but I didn't know who to choose anymore. At last I was still in a turmoil between the man I look up to and the man I love...

I scooped up little Lily into my arm, letting little Nadir wrap his little hands around my free one, before we returned, as I had earlier, up the stairs and into their bedroom. After tucking them in and wishing them their good-night's, I walked into my bedroom with a yawn, when suddenly I was met with a bright light. Erik had lit a candle, and he shut the door behind me.

I grinned. How romantic, I had thought, was he courting me as usual?

Instead, he turned his back on me, sitting sternly at his desk and reading some sort of paper. When I tried to peer over his shoulder, he sternly shoved me aside, not even giving a look my way.

"So, this is how it's going to end, huh?" he strained, hurt coiling around his vocals. I tensed.

"I'm not sure what you mean..." I replied, crossing my arms. Suddenly he reeled to face me, putting the...red scarf, in my hands.

"You think me a fool, Christine? I'm the Phantom of the Opera, for Christ's sake, I know my way around!"

Watery tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared in awe at him, his sudden change of fury. I could see he too was crying, but why, I wasn't entirely sure.

"I fought so hard...I suffered to protect you, and you're freely flouncing into another man's arms! H-how could you!?" he shrieked. I began to sob now, for his hurt was hurting me from inside out.

"I didn't say I was choosing Philippe, Erik. I don't mind if he visits. I-"

"Then choose. Choose right now," he begged, getting down on one knee pleadingly. His eyes glinted in the dim light as he grabbed my hand and pulled it into his hold, but once more he felt like the Phantom, not my loving Erik.

"I don't know!" I cried, trying to pull away. He stood up, facing away and looking out into the window, before hurtling away and out the door.

Where was he going!? What was he thinking!?

I raced after him down the stairs, only to hear some angry yell out in the distance. He was already long gone. He had more than likely run away now, in his anger fled once more. I collapsed, sitting on the wooden, knobbed spot, beginning to weep into my hands. I prayed now, he would be back in the morning...he'd be back in the morning...

.::.

Morning did come, and I found myself oddly back in bed, though I did not remember going there. I arose, pulling away the curtains to find everything neat and orderly. To my demise, the red scarf and letter were lain out on the desk. I heard a knocking coming from down the stairs, so I redressed quickly and went to answer the door.

Instead, Gustave had answered it, and happy, gleeful talking had began to occur. I smiled, hurrying to greet this visitor.

"Uncle Philippe! What a pleasant surprise!" Gustave inquired bright and boldly, shaking his hand. Oh no! Philippe had come early...that meant...the letter had come two days late! Where was Erik!?

"Good to see you too. Even if we are no longer...relatives, I will still consider you my favorite nephew."

"Glad to hear, Uncle Philippe, oh, Mother, come see, Uncle Philippe is here!"

Philippe didn't look in the least bit changed. He still had the ruffled blonde locks, the baby blue eyes, and the dimpled smile as he politely kissed my hand and raised his eyebrows.

"Lotte! I'm glad to see YOU especially. You look lovely as ever," he mused in a seductive manner. I forced a grin on my face, not showing my fear.

"Evermore to see you, Philippe darling. Come inside, I'll show you a room you can stay in. Better to set down your bags, right?" I replied. He nodded, exchanging a pleasant glance with my son.

"Good point. Don't want everyone to break their bones before we even get to tea time!" he joked. Gustave laughed heartily with his step-uncle for a while, before the man strode beside me to the guest room, where I shut the door behind us.

Immediately he pulled out a ring, trying to place it on my finger. I pulled back, not ready for any of this, and shoved him back a few feet. The most saddest look crossed his gaze, and he folded his arms.

"Christine? What's wrong? I thought..." he whispered.

I took the ring and put it around my neck on a sterling chain I had already been wearing. It was a beautiful amethyst-and-emerald ring, with a gold base and embroidered with small diamonds. I sighed softly. I could tell Philippe was hiding all his hurt when he placed down his bags. Oh gosh, I had already hurt two of the people I was closest to in less than even seven hours!

.::.

I sought Erik out in the gardens. Of course, he wasn't there. So I tried the woods. Could he be there?

Indeed, I found him sitting up in a tree. The last time I remembered him in a tree was when we were with the gypsy captors...and we scaled up and got away.

He didn't look my way. I wasn't sure if he knew I was there.

"Erik, darling, are you alright?" I asked. He jolted from his trance of staring blankly ahead of himself, turning to face my direction. His eyes looked hollow and shadowy. He clearly had been crying all night, and his cheeks were still soaked with the salty excretions.

"Ch-christine?" he murmured dully. He climbed down, and I flew my arms around him in a hug.

"Don't you ever run away like that again, do you hear me, Erik? I was so worried about you. Our guest is here, please be polite. _I'm not leaving you,_ okay? He's only here for a few days and he will be gone. That's all."

I found his strong arms wrap around my torso, before he pulled me into a soulful reunion. I didn't want to leave Erik, but I didn't want to disappoint Philippe either.

For once, I wanted the advice of my papa, but he had been dead for almost thirty years.

"Come now, mon ange, if the shadows of the sun are correct, it is indeed tea time." Erik said, his voice straining still with traces of unforeseen sorrow that I did not understand. When he took my hand once more, I could see him sliding our wedding photo into his pocket. Had he been staring at it all night long? I couldn't help but swallow down tears, for I had caused him more grief and damage then I had ever intended.


	3. A Pretty Distressed Author's Note

A/N:

Okay everyone. I think I am going to stop writing this story. Can you give me ONCE CHANCE TO DEVELOP THE CHARACTERS!? Your reviews were really hurtful. I only have two chapters up, and it takes a few chapters for me to develop the characters so you can understand their intentions in the story. Sure, of course Philippe seems nice for now! He's a cunning VILLAIN, why would he show his dark motives to Christine if he wants to win her over?

Okay, and the major complaint I noticed was that Christine seemed out of character because she was "willing to leave Erik for Philippe." A) this is an E/C fanfic B) she's already left him once for Raoul! Why can't she feel conflicted between two guys again? Because some people don't like any chance of other pairings (I support Christine/Erik and Daroga/Christine), apparently.

In brief, I can't stop you from being haters, but I haven't even gotten far in this fanfic. I am portraying Christine as she is, a confused, immature girl, whether you like her or not. I don't like it when people make her like "oh erik, i love you so much omg omg omg," because that's unrealistic. Everyone has to have a conflict in their fanfics, and hers is internal.

There is no way she would choose Philippe, but since no one would let me even FINISH THE STORY before they decided to complain, I don't think I have the motivation for this anymore. I came to this site because I was sad and needed someplace to share my creativity, and once more I get shot down. I hope you all got what you wanted. I worked really, REALLY hard on these chapters for this story.

Thanks, guys, especially TNP, the only positive reviewer so far.

-PhantomLilac

.::.


End file.
